


Like Father, Like Son

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Gen, Heavy Angst, based on a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Cain. The first murderer.His.
Relationships: Eve/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	Like Father, Like Son

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Poison](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217232) by [Arlome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome). 



> Go read Arlome's fic! This won't make a ton of sense without it, and also it's very, very good.

Cain. The first murderer. _His._

Lucifer wavers on his feet, barely managing to hold himself up, a burning weight in his stomach. It tastes like guilt and gall on his tongue.

Cain, who killed his brother— _who was it that killed Uriel?_ Cain, who was cursed by God to wander aimlessly the Earth. Would sending him to Hell have been too much of a homecoming all those millennia ago? Cain, who Lucifer had slaughtered in glee in every way he knew only to laugh at his pain when he awoke.

Cain, who broke them all to fulfill his own desires. How had Lucifer never suspected he might be his maker?

Cain, who killed Charlotte, killed hundreds, maybe, who manipulated innocents to carry out his orders. Who codified sin in the heart of humanity. Who kept the mark of his cruelty, as if he were _proud_. And he was.

_Pride is your sin, too._

Cain, who he’d once looked upon with carnal fascinating. Cain, who he’d kissed—a lie but not a lie. Cain who he’d thought might have been the only person who could truly understand him. And how right he’d been.

The irony draws him to his knees in a pool of his own worthless fluids. But then his mind pulls him back under, and he loses the thread of the present again.

Cain, who he’d damned as surely as his own Father had damned him. Who he’d fed the gall of his own guilt until he fell. And just as rightly, just as _righteously_ , it seems. For there was nothing within him that was not rotten.

Poison—and how right had He been to name Lucifer thus. How right had he always been, perhaps. For wouldn’t it have been infinitely better had he never rebelled? Had just kept his bile inside where its bitterness couldn’t infest anyone else? Like it infected Cain, like it infected _Eve_?

But now it is pouring over his piano like the flood that made to banish wickedness from the Earth. And he cannot stop it. Cannot stop the hot rush past his tongue and teeth, spilling over onto the floor. But there can be no prelapsarian paradise for him. It is his lot, after all. He knows that, now—to be tarnish to silver, rust to iron, decay to root and branch and tree.

Ruin to all things.

A creature that looks upon goodness but cannot comprehend it, that set evil as its good and betrothed itself to sin. For Hell is not a place, not truly—is only a lack, is only the absence of light, of love. Is not even so warm as darkness. Is not even so kind as hatred. And Hell, of course, dwells always within him—he is it, and it is he.

And Eve…

He claws himself back to reality to find his body limp on the floor, blood and bile soaking into his clothes. She is not comforting him—he certainly does not deserve it. Especially when he has forgotten her so easily. When he’s _always_ forgotten her so easily.

He knows she believed him caring in the garden. _Kind_ , even. But wasn’t that just another lie? Isn’t he the father of lies, the father of the liar? Didn’t he only come to tempt her, to fell her? To break his Father’s toys for the sake of his own desires? After all, Cain convinced the detective that he loved her. Had almost convinced himself, in the end.

Like father, like son.

The forbidden apple didn’t fall far from the twisted, broken tree. And the juice drips down his chin still, in bile and in blood.

But how is he supposed to live with this knowledge?

Is this what it truly is to fall?


End file.
